His Last Breath
by fanboy-anonymous
Summary: Dean Winchester's time has run out. In a few short hours, he's going to hell - and he's not quite sure how to deal with that. Sam is also having a hard time accepting that soon, he may lose the one person he loves more than anything. Contains "Wincest".
1. Chapter 1

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter one**

Dean Winchester was on his way to the bathroom when a tall, curvaceous blonde in a figure-hugging red dress caught his attention. Stopping dead in his tracks, he watched her lean over the bar and whisper in the bartender's ear, before pulling away and biting her lip demurely as she smiled.

All of a sudden, Dean's priorities changed. He felt less like he needed to pee and more like he needed to strut up to the beautiful blonde and turn on the old Dean Winchester charm.

After all, he needed to make the most of what was left of his life. In little over thirty-two hours, he was going to hell. And it didn't look like there was a single thing he could do about it.

So why not have a little fun...?

He sidled up to the long-legged beauty, who had her back turned to him, and gestured to the bartender. "I'll have a beer, and whatever this beautiful young lady is having," he said.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes. "Look pal," she sighed, "I'm not interested in..." Her voice trailed off as she turned and caught sight of Dean leaning against the bar, grinning back at her. Her eyes lit up as she studied him for a long moment, and the corners of her mouth began to pull up into a smile.

"Oh," she said. "Hi. I didn't um... Sorry, I thought it was, er... Someone else."

"Don't worry about it," Dean smiled. "What are you havin'?"

She smiled back, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder and asked the bartender for a beer.

"My kinda woman," Dean said, raising an eyebrow at her and grinning wickedly. She made a small simpering noise in the back of her throat and giggled nervously, flicking her hair again.

At the other end of the bar, perched on a tiny barstool, Sam Winchester watched the vomit-inducing display as his brother worked the girl like putty in his hand.

He rolled his eyes. Being with Dean was like being with a six-year-old kid – he couldn't even be trusted to go to the bathroom by himself. He needed constant supervision to stop him putting things in his mouth or getting distracted by shiny objects.

Sam sighed deep in his chest. He would have much preferred to have been doing something a little more constructive – like trying to find a way to save his brother from the fiery pit – but Dean had insisted on coming out for a few beers, if only so he could have a break from the dark gloom of Bobby's house, where they had been staying for the last few days.

Sipping at his beer, he watched Dean continue to flirt with the long-legged blonde, and when he caught his brother's eye, he shook his head disapprovingly.

Dean excused himself from the blonde and sauntered back over to Sam.

"What?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "_What_...?" he repeated, incredulous. "Dean, we have little more than a day to try and break your deal and save you from the pit, and you're wasting time flirting with some chick who looks like she can barely spell her own name."

Dean scoffed. "Oh, I get it," he smiled. "You're jealous."

Sam opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. Dean's smile widened.

"N-no," Sam stuttered. "I just think there's a lot more important things we could be doing right now."

"Like what...?" Dean asked seductively, sliding his hand over Sam's thigh.

Sam batted it away, and looked around to see if anyone was watching them.

Dean chuckled to himself and brought his half-full bottle to his lips, chugging down the remainder in a few short gulps and slamming the empty bottle down on the bar top. He belched loudly and smiled back at Sam, looking slightly dazed.

Sam couldn't help but chuckle. Dean was like an impossibly cute puppy – no matter how many times he chewed up the carpet or pissed on the bed, all he had to do was stare up at you with those big, adorable green eyes and your heart would melt in your chest, all wrongs forgotten.

Plus, the fact that he found Dean incredibly sexy always helped...

"Dean, come on," said Sam. "Let's go back."

"No way, Sammy. I am about to hit the jackpot," said Dean, pointing over his shoulder at the blonde, who was still watching them intently.

Sam looked over at her. "You really think a sweet girl like that wants to get involved with a guy like you?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked loudly. "Handsome, charming, well-hung...?" He playfully grabbed his crotch, laughing at the mortified look on Sam's face when several people turned and stared at them.

Sam shrugged his shoulders apologetically at the onlookers, and gestured that Dean had had too much to drink.

"No," he seethed, turning his attention back to Dean. "I mean a lying, stealing, serial bed-hopper who hunts demons for a living and, incidentally, may or may not be going to hell in a few hours."

"Point taken," Dean said, smiling sarcastically. "But that doesn't mean I can't still fuck her."

Sam grimaced.

"Come on, it's what I do, Sam," Dean continued, ignoring the look on his brother's face. "The old Winchester love-'em-and-leave-'em routine. I mean, I could give her the ride of her life tonight and she'll never even have to know that I'm gonna be dead tomorrow."

He laughed, picking up Sam's bottle and taking a swig. When he put the bottle back down, he noticed the grave look on Sam's face and immediately knew what he had done.

"Sam, I..." he whispered soberly, his face turning serious.

"Just forget it," Sam interrupted, sliding off the stool and snatching up his jacket before heading towards the exit.

"Fuck," Dean sighed, closing his eyes. Sam was already having a hard enough time accepting that things were looking hopeless for Dean. He was still hoping beyond all hope that there was a way out for Dean. Reminding him that he was probably going to be alone in the world the day after tomorrow was simply too much for him to handle.

Dean glanced over at the blonde girl. She stared back at him with a confused look on her face. He shrugged at her and turned away.

He followed his brother toward the exit, knowing that an awkward car journey back to Bobby's, and several heartfelt apologies, lay ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter two**

"Look, Sam..." Dean said cautiously. "I just-"

"Dean, stop apologizing," interrupted Sam. "Just forget it. We've got bigger problems."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean murmured. He turned the key, locking the Impala, and then followed Sam up the gravel path towards Bobby's house, staying a few paces behind his brother.

When they arrived at the front door, Sam reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out the spare key Bobby had given him. He pushed it into the lock and then stopped, sighing deep in his chest,

"What is it?" Dean asked, staring at the back of Sam's head.

Sam slowly turned to face him. He wore a strange expression on his face, and his eyes were moist and shiny in the moonlight.

"Sam, what is it?" Dean asked again.

Without saying a word, Sam took hold of Dean's chin and tilted it upwards, leaning down and pressing his lips gently against Dean's.

Dean responded without hesitation, leaning into the kiss and sliding one arm around Sam's back, pulling him in closer. And then, as soon as the kiss had started, it was over. Sam pulled back and studied the slightly dazed look on Dean's face, smiling impishly.

"What was that for...?" Dean asked breathlessly.

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Just 'cause," he said, and then turned and unlocked the door, ushering a still-stupefied Dean inside and locking and bolting the door behind them.

After a few surreptitious kisses in the hallway, they opened the living room door and found Bobby sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by open books. He was holding one of them up to his nose, studying it intently, and didn't even look up to greet them.

"Hey," he grunted. "You boys have fun?"

"Sort of," replied Sam, sliding a sneaky sidewards glance at Dean, who smiled back mischievously and winked.

"Well, fun's over," Bobby said, still studying the book closely. "You're gonna have to get your pretty little asses in gear if we're gonna get Dean out of this mess. I'll keep on working on this stuff down here" – he waggled a finger at the pile of books on the floor – "so you two can start searching through the volumes I've got upstairs in the den."

"Sure," said Dean, trying to sound enthused about thumbing through dusty old books for the next few hours. The only thing he ever actually _enjoyed_ reading was porn, and that was only because it usually involved graphic illustrations and ended in a self-inflicted orgasm. So the last thing he wanted to do right now was read an actual _book_.

In fact, all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed with Sam for the next thirty-two hours and not have to come out until it was time to go to hell...

"Sure, Bobby," agreed Sam, nodding vigorously. He threw Dean another glance, one eyebrow raised. Dean recognized the sparkle in his brother's eye and knew at once what it meant. They were going upstairs to fool around.

And that was okay by Dean.

…

"We should at least open a couple of books and _pretend_ to be reading," Dean chuckled, after almost a half-hour of making out.

He was leaning back in the chair, his legs spread wide open and his hands behind his head. Sam was kneeling on the floor between his thighs. He had unbuttoned Dean's shirt and was kissing and licking his way across his chest.

"Mmm-hmm," he moaned lightly, but didn't take his lips off Dean's warm, soft skin.

Dean couldn't help but smile. As Sam worked his way down his stomach, licking around his bellybutton, a small gasp escaped Dean's lips and he let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He reached down and tangled his fingers in his brother's hair, while Sam unbuckled Dean's belt and slowly pulled down his zipper.

Dean braced himself, clenching his buttocks in anticipation.

Sam fumbled with the buttons on his boxer shorts and when he finally undid them, he pulled Dean's stiff cock out through the opening, immediately sliding it inside his warm, wet mouth.

Dean let out another gasp of delight, simultaneously tilting his hips upwards in the chair and gently pushing Sam's head down until his entire length was inside Sam's mouth, right down to the base.

Sam gagged slightly as his lips were pushed into Dean's pubic hair, and the tip of Dean's cock hit the back of his throat.

"Sorry," whispered Dean, lifting his head up and looking down at Sam. As he peered down at his brother, a dark shape across the room caught his attention and his eyes shot upwards.

After a moment, they widened in shock. His whole body tensed up and his erection immediately began to subside.

"What is it?" Sam asked, taking Dean's dick out of his mouth and gazing up at his brother, who was still staring across the room, wide-eyed.

Sam twisted his body around and looked behind him, the expression on his face suddenly matching his brother's.

Bobby was was standing in the doorway.


	3. Chapter 3

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter three**

"Bobby!" Sam choked, jumping to his feet and wiping the saliva from his lips. "We... we just..." His eyes moved frantically from Bobby to Dean and back again.

Bobby stared back at Sam, his face placid and unemotional. But that didn't stop Sam's heart from pounding hard, or his limbs from shaking.

What was Bobby going to say...? What was Bobby going to _do_...?

"We..." Sam started again, but nothing more came out. His throat had completely dried up.

Dean slowly got up from the chair, his eyes never leaving Bobby's strangely expressionless face. He was unsure of the reaction he and Sam were about to witness. Surely Bobby – the man who was like a surrogate father to them – was about to explode with rage at what he'd just seen, right...?

Dean knew Bobby was a pretty liberal guy when it came to most things, but _this_...? This was worse than when he'd walked in on Dean jerking off to Playboy when he was fifteen-years-old.

_A lot_ worse.

As Dean stood upright, Bobby's eyes were distracted by the pink flesh at his crotch and his gaze instinctively dropped downwards. Dean's cock was lolling out of his jeans, semi-erect, imposing and awkward in the tense situation. It was like having a giant pink elephant standing in the corner of the room during a serious conversation.

Dean hurriedly shoved it back into his pants and pulled up his zipper. Bobby's eyes briefly followed the movement before he seemed to remember what he was staring at and quickly looked away. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, his face showing emotion for the first time since Sam and Dean had noticed him standing in the doorway.

"Christ, boys," he muttered, his face set into a deep frown. His eyes flitted back and forth between the brothers.

"Bobby, we..." Dean whispered, his voice cracking. He stared at Sam, as if expecting him to finish the sentence, but Sam never said a word. His eyes were still wide with shock and locked on Bobby's face.

The room fell deathly silent as the seconds ticked by and no-one spoke.

Eventually, Bobby grunted to himself and shook his head, turning on his heels and stalking off down the hallway. Sam immediately appeared to snap out of his rigor mortis-like state and finally turned to face Dean.

"I'll talk to him," he said sombrely. "Just stay here and... read something." He shuffled out of the den and followed after Bobby.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed deep in his chest.

"This is not happening," he whispered to himself. "As if I don't have enough crap to deal with right now..."

_Well, look at the bright side, _he thought, _maybe Bobby will kill me instead and save the hellhounds a job. Plus, it would be a whole lot less painful just being shot..._

…

Sam bounded down the stairs after Bobby, catching up with him in the kitchen.

"Bobby, please..." he pleaded. "Please, just listen..."

Bobby stopped at the worktop and hunched over, leaning on the edge of the sink. "I just don't know what to say, Sam," he said, shaking his head.

Sam's heart was thumping. How was he going to explain all this to Bobby...? Why did he have to...? Why did he let this happen at all...? There were so much more important things they should be doing tonight – like saving Dean!

Compared to saving his brother from going to hell, this all seemed so frustratingly unnecessary right now. But he knew it couldn't wait any longer. He was just going to have to tell it like it was and hope Bobby wouldn't freak out so much that they would be kept from their mission.

"Bobby, I love him," Sam said bluntly. "We love each other. More than brothers. More than anything... I don't know how else to explain it."

"You don't have to," Bobby replied. He still stood hunched over the sink with his back to Sam. "I think I get the gist... Besides, I don't wanna know the ins and outs."

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Sam said quietly, sliding his fingers through his long, dark hair and then staring down at the floor.

Bobby sighed. He stood upright and finally turned to face Sam. His eyes moved over the sad sight in front of him – Sam, looking scared and ashamed, like a kid who'd just been caught stealing candy. Despite his humongous stature, he looked fragile, childlike. He stood with his hands in his pockets, head down, staring at the floor. His long, dark hair hid his eyes.

Bobby felt inexplicably guilty. He didn't know why; he hadn't done anything wrong. But he couldn't help feeling sorry for Sam. For Dean, too. They had both had such a horrible, tragic life, full of misery and loss and heartache. They'd been through things that no kids should ever go through, seen things that no kids should ever see.

All they were doing was clinging to the one good thing they'd ever had, the one thing that they could rely on, the thing that they loved and trusted more than anything – each other.

Was that really so bad...? Could he really blame them for that...?

"I'm not saying it's right, what you've been doing," Bobby said, taking a step forward, adjusting his cap. "But I made a promise to your daddy a long time ago that I would look out for you boys. And I intend to keep it... Besides, we got bigger problems right now. We should get back to work."

Sam nodded and lifted his head, giving a weak half-smile. After a moment, he asked, "Bobby, are we gonna save my brother...?" His eyes fell back to the floor, as if he didn't want to see the real answer written all over Bobby's face.

Bobby stepped forward and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Of course we are," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll find a way, kid."

Sam's eyes drifted back up to meet Bobby's. He nodded slowly, wiping the moisture from his eyes. "I love him so much, Bobby," he whispered. "I can't apologize for that. I'm sorry you had to find out like this, but I can't apologize for the way I feel."

Bobby nodded, squeezing Sam's shoulder supportively.

"Even if we don't find a way to stop this," Sam continued, " I swear... I will love him until his last breath."

"It's not gonna come to that, son," said Bobby. "We _will_ find a way. I promise."

As the words left his mouth, Bobby already regretted them. He hated making promises he didn't know for sure he could keep. Staring into Sam's eyes, he could only hope that he would find some way to make good on this one...


	4. Chapter 4

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter four**

Dean flipped absent-mindedly through page after page, paying little attention to the book in front of him. His mind was still running over the possibility of Bobby charging upstairs any moment, shotgun in hand, and blasting him into the next world... Or rather, the Underworld.

He hadn't seen Bobby or Sam since they'd both disappeared almost a half-hour ago, and he didn't know if there was a huge argument going on downstairs, but he hadn't heard any yelling – or gunshots – so far...

When the floorboards creaked across the room, Dean glanced up from the desk to find see Bobby's dark silhouette near the door. He held something close to his chest in one hand, but in the dimly lit room, Dean couldn't quite see what it was.

His heart started beating faster.

He watched as Bobby moved towards him, stepping into the yellow glow from the candles on the desk, and realized that what he held in his hand was a large cup of hot liquid.

_Oh, great,_ Dean thought, _I'm about to be scolded with hot coffee and have bible passages recited to me..._

But Bobby didn't look angry. In fact, he looked almost apologetic – as if what had happened before had been _his_ fault. He came forward and set the cup down on the desk, near Dean's hand.

"Coffee," he said quietly. "Sam made it."

Dean nodded slowly, staring up at him, and gave an uneasy smile.

"Where is he?" he asked, reaching for the coffee.

"Downstairs... reading," replied Bobby. He took a deep breath, and the room room fell silent for a long few seconds before he exhaled again. "I always knew you boys were close," he said. "Closer than most brothers... I just never imagined... you know..."

Dean nodded again. He didn't know what to say. What _could_ he say...?

"Come on, boy," Bobby grumbled. "Talk to me." He leaned down on the desk until he was almost at eye-level with Dean, who stared back at him from under a furrowed brow.

"What do you want me to say, Bobby?" Dean sighed, leaning back in the chair. He took a long sip of coffee, wishing that this unbearably awkward conversation wasn't about to happen, but knowing for sure that it was.

"Well..." Bobby started cautiously. "How long has this been going on?" He leaned off the desk and stood upright, folding his arms.

Dean set the coffee back down on the desk but kept his hand curled around the warm cup. He stared at the vapour rising up from the hot liquid and shrugged.

"A while," he said, staring past Bobby into the shadows. "Sam was fourteen the first time..."

He looked back at Bobby in time to see him grimace slightly, and stopped.

"I don't want all the gory details," said Bobby, shaking his head. "I've already seen way more than I needed to. I'm just trying to understand..."

Dean nodded solemnly. "We never wanted you to find out like that, Bobby."

"I bet you didn't," scoffed Bobby. "And just so you know, it wasn't exactly my idea of the perfect floor show, either. I already caught you with your pants down when you were fifteen, and it wasn't exactly an experience I was looking to relive."

"Me neither," murmured Dean, as he took another sip of coffee.

Bobby turned quiet and shook his head. "I'm just glad your daddy wasn't around to see that," he said gravely.

There was a moment of silence as Dean's eyes fell to his feet. "Dad already knew," he said quietly.

When he looked back up, Bobby was staring back at him, open-mouthed.

"It happened when Sammy left for Stanford," Dean continued, ruffling his fingers through his hair. "He left me a note telling me he loved me, and Dad found it..."

…

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

**2001**

"You don't look sick," said John Winchester, standing at the side of his son's bed, his arms folded across his chest. "A little pale, maybe, but not exactly sick. Maybe you should try getting up and eating something."

"No, Dad," croaked Dean. "I'm not hungry. Just let me sleep." He rolled over, turning away from John and closing his eyes.

"Is this because of Sam?" John asked.

Dean's eyes shot open but he didn't turn around. "What?" he said. The word came out as barely a whisper, and he cleared his throat. "No, Dad. It's not..."

"Your brother made his choice, Dean. You and I have to continue with our lives, with our duty."

"It's not Sam..."

"Then what is it?" John demanded. He unfolded his arms and let them fall at his sides. "Dean, we were supposed to be in New Mexico yesterday. Pastor Jim is counting on us. We have to leave today."

"Just leave me, Dad..." said Dean, his voice cracking and the tears welling up in his eyes. "Go to New Mexico. I'll catch up in a couple of days."

John shook his head. For the first time in a long time, he was scared. Something was wrong with his son, and he didn't know what. As he turned to walk away, his eye caught sight of a small patch of white near his boot – the corner of a piece of paper, sticking out from under the bed.

Kneeling down, he picked up the paper and scanned the words in the middle of the page. He recognized the handwriting straight away, and when he read the words carefully, his eyes widened. His gaze drifted up from the note and towards the shape of Dean's body, buried under the sheets.

Now it all made sense...

Now he knew everything.

…

**Maxwell, New Mexico**

**Three Days Later**

The blazing orange sun was slowly setting in the pink sky as the night drew closer. John Winchester waved as Jim's black Mustang sped out of the motel parking lot and raced off down the road, towards the horizon.

The case they'd just worked on together had been a success, and there were three less demons walking the earth.

After watching Jim vanish over the horizon, John turned to face his son. Dean was leaning against the passenger door of the Impala, his arms folded, staring at the ground. He had hardly spoken in days. Ever since Sam had abandoned them for a new life at Stanford, Dean had been stumbling around like a zombie, barely eating, and drinking himself into oblivion almost every night. And John knew the reason why...

His sons weren't just brothers. They were lovers, too.

John didn't know how long it had been going on, and he didn't really want to. He was trying to avoid bringing it up with Dean, though he was sure his son knew he had found the note from Sam. After finding it, John had put it in his pocket and kept it there for the last few days. It was as if by taking the note away from Dean, it buried the situation, made it less real.

But it had been playing on John's mind the whole time they were in New Mexico, and he had been trying hard to avoid any kind of confrontation. He didn't want his relationship with his son to change – which it inevitably would once things were out in the open.

Maybe it would be better to just ignore it, to rip up the note and forget about it. Why make things awkward between them? Especially now that Sam was out of the picture. Maybe for good.

John reached inside his jacket pocket, felt the small, folded-up piece of paper, and stared hard at Dean. He lifted his chin and peered up at John, his sad, tired eyes ringed with red. John knew his son was utterly heartbroken. How long was this going to last...?

He walked towards Dean, squeezing the note tight in his fist, and when he reached the Impala, he sighed, drawing the small square of paper out of his pocket and handing it to his son.

Dean reached out and took it cautiously, looking slightly confused. When he realized what it was, his eyes widened.

"I thought you might want this," murmured John, before trudging around to the driver's side of the car and opening the door, sliding inside.

With trembling hands, Dean unfolded the note and stared at the three words in the centre of the page:

_I love you. _

He started sobbing hard, hot tears streaking down his cheeks and his body shaking against the side of the car. He let himself cry for only a few minutes before he composed himself, forcing back the rest of the tears, and wiped the moisture away from his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. He took took a long, deep breath, before opening the passenger door and climbing inside.

John started the ignition.

"So, Dad," said Dean. "Where are we gonna eat?"


	5. Chapter 5

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter five**

"I... I had no idea..." said Bobby, staring at Dean in the candlelight. "John never said anything..."

"Why would he?" Dean said quietly. "He didn't want to admit it to himself, never mind anyone else. Besides, he wasn't exactly the caring, sharing type."

"Maybe not," said Bobby. "But he loved you and your brother more than anything. He'd never let _anything_ change that... You know that, right...?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean said dubiously. He brought the cup to his lips and took a large gulp of the now-lukewarm coffee. "So, you find anything downstairs...?" he asked, changing the subject.

Bobby shook his head. "Not yet. But we will."

Dean nodded, though he was unconvinced. He had already resigned himself to the fact that he would very likely be going to hell tomorrow night.

"Hey! Would you stop that!?" Bobby chided, slapping Dean across the head.

"Jeez! _What_?" demanded Dean, rubbing the back of his head vigorously.

"Acting like you're already dead!" Bobby spat angrily. "Do you have any idea what it's doing to Sam...? He's torn up inside!"

"He is...?" Dean said weakly.

"Of course he is, you moron! He loves you. And he's still counting on finding a way to get your sorry ass out of this mess."

Dean's eyes fell to the floor. He had been such a selfish dick, lately. He'd been too busy lamenting his own pitiful existence to even recognize how badly all of this had affected Sam – the one person he loved more than anything. The one thing he was terrified of losing.

He hadn't even though about the fact that his brother was probably just as scared of losing _him_.

"We will get you out of this, kid," said Bobby. "One way or another." In an uncharacteristic gesture of affection, he reached out and placed his hand on Dean's, squeezing it gently. Dean lifted his head and stared up at Bobby, slightly stunned.

"And just so you know..." Bobby said quietly. "I don't care what you and Sam do when you're alone together."

Dean nodded cautiously. Where was the scorn and disapproval he had expected...? If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought Bobby was possessed or something.

"But believe me when I say," continued Bobby, "that I have seen more than enough of your nether regions to last me a lifetime..." He dropped his gaze, gesturing towards Dean's crotch with his eyebrows. "No matter how _impressively_ things may have grown since you were fifteen."

Dean laughed, his cheeks flushing pink, and he looked away bashfully. Bobby grunted quietly, patting Dean's hand before turning and heading out of the den.

"So make sure you lock the door next time, y'idjit!" he quipped over his shoulder, before disappearing around the door frame.

…

Sam jolted awake from a brief, exhaustion-induced nap to find himself sitting on the couch with an open book in his hand. An empty coffee cup was wedged between his thighs.

Clearly, the caffeine wasn't working; he could barely keep his eyes open. But, however dog-tired Sam was, he knew there was no time for sleep. Dean was running out of time.

Sam closed the book and threw it aside. He went to the kitchen and started making a fresh pot of strong coffee.

"Any luck?" said a voice behind him. He turned to find Bobby standing in the doorway.

"Not really," answered Sam. "You...?"

"I'm working on it. I think I-"

"How's Dean?" Sam interrupted.

"Okay," sighed Bobby. "Tired, I guess."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, tell me about it." He poured the black coffee into the cup and blew on it before chugging it back, burning his mouth a little. He slammed the cup back down on the counter and filled it up again. "You want one?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Nope," Bobby grunted.

Sam gulped down half of his second cup of coffee before joining Bobby in the living room. He sunk back into the couch and opened the book he'd been reading earlier.

After only a few paragraphs, he realized that he was too exhausted to read. He could barely concentrate. The words were blurring on the page as he tried to read them, making it impossible for him to absorb any of the information. Not only that, but his bladder also felt as though it might explode at any moment.

He sighed loudly.

Bobby peered up from his book. "What is it?"

"Gotta pee," said Sam, getting up and heading out of the living room.

He closed the bathroom door behind him and sighed again, leaning against the door. It was a relief to be in the small, quiet space – away from the thousands of books and websites, and the sound of Bobby tutting as he tossed yet another book aside, and the slightly panicky expression on his face as the minutes ticked by, and the awful tasting coffee. It was all too much.

And they were no nearer to saving Dean... And where the hell was Ruby...? She had promised to help. Shouldn't she be here right now, _helping..._?

Sam's bladder twinged again. He stood over the toilet and unzipped his fly, turning his face up to the ceiling and sighing softly as he relieved himself, the stream seeming to go on forever as it crashed loudly into the bowl, before eventually trickling away to a few small drops.

Sam shook himself off, but stayed rooted to the spot, holding his dick in his hand. He slipped into a strange, daydream-like state. His mind wandered through random thoughts and memories, most of them about Dean.

The first time they'd kissed. All the times they'd made love. Every kiss. Every touch. Their warm bodies pressed together in the dark...

Sure, what they had wasn't perfect... But it was _something_. It was the one thing that had pulled Sam through the darkest, hardest times of his life. And no demon could take that away from him – even if they could take away Dean.

"Sam!" Bobby called from outside the bathroom.

Sam snapped out of his daydream and quickly zipped himself up. When he opened the bathroom door, Bobby stood in front of him, looking slightly flushed.

"I found something," he said.

…

Dean woke from the nightmare and lifted his head, blinking away his blurred vision and breathing heavy. It took him a moment to remember he was at Bobby's house.

He stared down at the open book he'd fallen asleep on. An elaborate illustration of a hellhound – made up of the screaming, tortured souls it had collected – stared back at him, its teeth bared. It did nothing to calm the panicky feeling left over from the nightmare, in which he'd been chased down and torn apart by a particularly tenacious hellhound.

It did nothing except remind Dean that he only had a few hours left. Soon, the hellhounds would _really_ be coming for him.

He stared down at the page.

Sam's tall frame loomed out of the shadows. "Dig up anything good?" he asked.

Dean closed the book. "No," he replied, clearing his throat. "Nothing good."

"Well, Bobby has," Sam chimed. "Finally."

"Yeah?" Dean said, trying to sound interested.

"Yeah," said Sam. "A way to find Lilith."

"Wow, and with just, uh..." – Dean checked his watch – "thirty hours to go." He paused for a second, staring up at Sam. "Hey, why don't we just make a TJ run, you know? Some señoritas, _cervezas, _uh we could – what's Spanish for 'donkey show'?"

Sam chuckled. "So, If we do save you," he smiled, "let's never do that."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled.

Sam walked around the desk and kneeled down beside him. Dean stared straight ahead, not even glancing in his direction.

"Hey, Dean, um..." he sighed, resting his hand on Dean's thigh. "Look, we're cutting it close, I know. But we're gonna get this done. I don't care what it takes, Dean. You're not gonna go to hell. I'm not gonna let you..."

Dean turned to look at his brother.

"I swear," Sam continued. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Dean's eyebrows fell and his eyes widened. As he stared at his brother's face, he watched as it seemed to warp and distort itself, becoming a vision of evil and decay, shuddering in and out of reality, its mouth contorting monstrously, before it finally settled and became Sam's face again.

Dean swallowed. He knew it was some kind of death omen, a vision linked to his impending doom. He'd probably be seeing a lot more of them before his time was up...

He tried to steady himself, not wanting Sam to know anything was wrong, He kept his expression placid and nodded lightly at his brother.

"Yeah, okay," he murmured, trying to keep it together.

Sam rock forward on his knees and reached out, sliding his arms around Dean and pulling him closer. Dean twisted in the chair, putting one arm around Sam's neck and pressing his face into Sam's hair, breathing in his scent. Sam's face was pressed hard against Dean's chest, and he could feel the light thud of his brother's heartbeat against his skin.

"I love you," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by Dean's shirt.

"Huh?" asked Dean, several seconds later, as if he had just woken out of a trance.

Sam pulled away and stared up at him. "I said I fucking love you, Dean Winchester..." he whispered, his eyes moist with tears.

Dean chuckled. "I fucking love you too, Sam Winchester."

Sam got up onto his feet and took Dean by the hand, pulling him up out of the chair. Dean stumbled forward and their bodies pushed together, lips meeting, and Sam slid his tongue inside Dean's mouth. They kissed fervently for a long few moments, tilting their heads back and forth, breathing hard through their noses and gripping the backs of each others' shirts with tight fists.

Bobby rounded the doorway and entered the room. "Hey, I... Whoah," he said, when he caught sight of Sam and Dean.

They pulled away from each other and turned to face him.

"Hey, Bobby," they said in unison, straightening their shirts and clearing their throats.

"You boys coming...?" he asked.


	6. Chapter 6

"**HIS LAST BREATH"**

**chapter six**

Thanks to Bobby, they now knew where to find Lilith: New Harmony, Indiana. But there was still the problem of how they were going to kill the bitch.

Dean was reluctant to rush in half-cocked, without any fool-proof way of destroying her, and end up getting his brother killed. Especially knowing that Lilith already wanted Sam's head on a plate. It was way too risky.

Sam wanted Ruby to teach him to use his powers against Lilith, but Dean was adamant that wasn't going to happen. He'd rather die than see his brother turn into some kind of demonic freak. There had to be another way, and Dean's thoughts kept leading back to Ruby's demon-killing knife. So when Sam went down to the basement to summon her, Dean followed, waiting in the shadows for her arrival.

From the moment she showed up, she tried to poison Sam's mind, making him believe that tapping into his powers was the only way to kill Lilith. When Dean couldn't bear to listen to her anymore, he made his move. Sure, he had to take a few punches, but in the end, he got the knife.

So now Ruby was stuck in a Devil's Trap down in the basement, screaming at the top of her lungs while, upstairs, Sam and Dean were still busy disagreeing with one another.

"Dean," said Sam, "what are you afraid is gonna happen...? This is me, I can handle it. And if it'll save you..."

"Why even risk it?" sighed Dean.

"Because you're my brother," replied Sam. "Because you did the same thing for me."

"I know," said Dean. "And look how that turned out."

Sam looked away. He knew he was never going to win this fight.

"All I'm saying..." Dean continued, "Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot."

Sam lifted his head.

"You are. And I'm yours." Dean stared hard back at him, as if chiding Sam for loving him so much. For loving him _too_ much.

"No, you don't mean that," Sam said quietly. "We're family."

"I know," Dean nodded. "And those evil sons-of-bitches know it too... I mean, what we'll do for each other, you know, how far we'll go... They're using it against us."

"So we just stop looking out for each other?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"No," whispered Dean, shaking his head, "we stop being martyrs, man. We stop spreading it for these demons. We take this knife" – he held up the demon-killing blade he'd just taken from Ruby – "and we go after Lilith our way. The way dad taught us to. And if we go down, then, uh... then we go down swinging."

Sam swallowed hard. He didn't know if Dean could tell, but he was on the verge of tears.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

There was a moment of silence.

"I think you totally should have been jamming _Eye Of The Tiger_ right there," quipped Sam.

"Oh, bite me," said Dean, getting up and continuing to pack his duffel bag. "You know I totally rehearsed that speech too."

Sam chuckled quietly. "So, Indiana, huh?"

"Yeah, where Lilith is on shore leave."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Tell me something," said Dean. "What the hell does a demon do for fun?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he sighed, getting up and pacing over to stand in front of Dean. He lifted his arms and put them around Dean's neck, playfully adjusting his jacket collar before leaning in to whisper in his brother's ear. "But I know what _I_ like to do..."

Dean breathed a soft laugh that tickled the hairs on the back of Sam's neck, before he pulled away and stared at the mischievous expression on Sam's face.

"I thought _I_ was the inappropriately horny brother...?" he smirked.

Sam shrugged, biting his lip coltishly. "What can I say? I learned from the best. Besides, we never got to finish what we started earlier."

Dean's grin widened. Sam rested one hand on Dean's hip, while the other moved down and started gently rubbing his brother' crotch. When he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Dean's neck, kissing and sucking tenderly at the warm flesh, Dean let out a slightly stunned gasp.

"Sammy, you do know we have to be leaving soon, right?" he whispered. But despite his half-hearted protest, his hands were already sliding around Sam's waist to pull him in closer, and his dick had already stiffened in the palm of Sam's hand, which had craftily unzipped Dean's fly and made its way inside his underwear.

Sam carried on kissing and licking at Dean's neck, his tongue making a trail up to Dean's earlobe and then along his jawline.

Dean's heart was starting to pound harder in his chest. He moaned softly into Sam's hair, while one of his hands massaged the bulge in his younger brother's jeans.

"I want you inside me," Sam gasped suddenly. He pulled his head away from Dean's neck and stared into his eyes with a fiery intensity that almost scared Dean. "This could be the last..." he started, but couldn't finish the sentence, and Dean didn't want him to; he didn't want to even think about that right now. All he wanted was to feel Sam's warm skin against his own, to kiss him, to be inside him, to be part of him and possess him entirely.

If he had to go to hell, maybe this one last, glorious memory would get him through, protect him from all of the horrors he would surely have to suffer – at least until he could find some way to crawl out of the pit, and right back into Sam's arms.

"We don't have a lot of time before Bobby gets back," he whispered.

"Then you better hurry up and fuck me," said Sam, lunging forward and unbuckling Dean's belt and yanking down his jeans and underwear in one quick motion. Dean hastily threw off his jacket and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, spinning him around on his feet. Sam quickly undid his own jeans and pushed them down over his hips.

Dean wasted no time. He pushed Sam forward and bent him over the edge of the desk, spreading his legs and moving forward until he was standing in between them. He spat into the palm of his hand and used the saliva to lubricate himself before sliding the tip of his cock into Sam, who immediately gripped the edge of the desk, bracing himself as Dean gently thrust forward.

Sam groaned loudly. The muscles in his stomach contracted from the sensation of Dean's cock sliding deeper inside him.

It took only a few thrusts before Dean felt like he was about to come. He lay his body down on top of Sam and stretched out his arms, his hands sliding over Sam's and their fingers intertwining. He bucked faster against Sam's rear, his breath jutting out sharp and quick with each thrust.

When he came, a blinding white light seemed to flash before his eyes. His mind went completely blank for a split second, and then it was suddenly awash with all of the things that had happened in his life – everything that had led him to this point: random memories from his childhood, things that his father had taught him, every creature or spirit that they had ever hunted.

Every moment with Sam, every kiss, every touch, every taste. Thousands of fragments, pieces of a life that he knew could soon be coming to an end.

And there was probably nothing anyone could do about it.

…

Dean bent over the bathroom sink and turned on the faucet, first washing his face in the icy cold water and then taking a large gulp of it, rinsing and spitting away the salty after-taste of Sam's semen.

"You even got my god-damn hair!" he yelled over his shoulder, noticing a few droplets of sticky white fluid above his ear. He washed it away and then grabbed a towel to dry himself off.

"Sorry!" Sam chuckled from the den. "You should take it as a compliment!"

Dean laughed into the towel as he patted his face dry, then took one last look in the mirror before leaving the bathroom, buttoning up the rest of his shirt.

"We should hurry if we wanna hit the road," he said as he entered the den.

"Yeah," said Sam. He stood with his back to Dean, and was in the middle of pulling up his jeans.

Dean stopped and leaned against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest and watching.

"You know Sammy," he sighed, "I'm gonna miss that peachy little ass."

Sam turned to face him. "Dean, don't..." he said quietly, shaking his head.

"Sorry," said Dean.

The room fell silent and Sam stared down at the floor, his face set in a deep frown. "You know," he whispered, "sometimes I wake up the middle of the night, just to hear you breathe."

"What...?" Dean asked, taking a step forward.

"I do..." Sam continued. He lifted his head and stared at Dean, his eyes moist with tears. "Dean, please don't leave me..."

A lump formed in the back of Dean's throat. He choked it back as he stumbled forward and grabbed a hold of Sam, pulling him in close and resting his head on Sam's shoulder. Sam's hands gripped the back of Dean's shirt.

They held each other for several minutes, saying nothing, before they finally let each other go and silently went about getting dressed and gathering their belongings.

"You ready?" Dean asked finally.

"Uh-huh," said Sam, swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and marching towards the door. Dean nodded, and followed his brother out to the Impala. They both threw their bags in the trunk and then climbed into the front of the car.

Dean took one last look at Sam. He knew from the look in his eyes that his little brother's heart was on the verge of breaking. He leaned over and pressed his mouth against Sam's, letting the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling away. They smiled weakly at each other.

"Let's do this," Dean muttered under his breath, and turned the key in the ignition.

…

**New Harmony, Indiana**

Minutes after midnight, Sam watched as Lilith ripped out of Ruby's body in a stream of black smoke and disappeared into the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

As Ruby's lifeless body crumpled to the floor, Sam was left staring down at his brother, who lay next to her.

Dean's body lay motionless, the flesh on his chest, shoulder and leg ripped to shreds, blood staining his tattered clothes and leaking out onto the floor around him. His legs were splayed apart, one hand resting on his stomach and his face upturned to the ceiling.

Sam's face distorted with grief as he kneeled down beside his brother, his chin trembling as the tears began to stream down his face. He slid his arm under Dean's neck and hauled him upright, staring into his vacant eyes.

"No," Sam choked. "No... Dean..."

His whole body trembled, his face screwing up as he gave a silent sob, tears spilling down onto Dean's jacket. Dean stared past Sam at the ceiling, his dead eyes sending chills through Sam's body.

He realised, looking into those eyes, that he was now completely alone in the world. Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever loved, was gone. And in that moment, Sam Winchester's heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

With an excruciating ache in his chest, he leaned down and gently kissed Dean's lips, and as his tears dripped down and ran over Dean's blood-spattered cheeks, Sam swore he could almost hear his brother's voice screaming his name...


End file.
